


Mustache

by improbableZero



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Drawing Mustaches on People, Falling Asleep on Your Paperwork, Felt-tip Pens, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-03
Updated: 2012-07-03
Packaged: 2017-11-09 03:18:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/450666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/improbableZero/pseuds/improbableZero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Germany falls asleep on his paperwork. Italy has a felt-tip pen. Hilarity Ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mustache

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Do Not Graffiti the Russian](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/9654) by cheesecakeplz. 



> I'm in the process of archiving my fic here from elsewhere on the internet. Please excuse the mess.

On silent feet, Italy crept up to the door. Carefully, carefully, he eased it open and peered inside.

Germany was asleep, his head down on his folded arms, under which lay several pages of paperwork. His hair was starting to come down from its usual strict slicked-back style, and a few strands hung over his face.

Italy smiled fondly. Germany always worked so hard, training alongside their troops, playing football with Italy, cleaning the house, doing paperwork. He woke up early, too, so it was no surprise to find him asleep on his paperwork. It was rather cute, actually.

Italy fetched a quilt from their bedroom and carefully wrapped it around Germany's shoulders so he wouldn't be cold. As he was leaving the room to go to bed, however, he spotted a black felt-tip pen. A plan began to form in his mind.

***

The next morning, Germany awoke to stiff shoulders, neck, and back, as well as the morning light through the window. He blinked the sleep from his eyes, wondering what time it was. A quick glance at the clock on his desk answered his question—it was well past nine.

He sighed, pushed back his chair, and stood, feeling something fall from his shoulders as he did so. Curious, he bent to retrieve the item—a quilt made of patches coloured like his and Italy's flags. He recognised it instantly as one of the blankets from their bedroom. The thought that Italy had been there and covered him up set a pleasantly warm feeling in his stomach.

It was then that he remembered the time. He hurried to prepare himself for the day—he showered, dressed, combed his hair, and brushed his teeth. It wasn't until he went to shave his face that he noticed it.

Someone—and Germany had a feeling he knew exactly who—had drawn a mustache on his upper lip. It was one of those absurd ones, with the curly tips and the general silliness.

He took a deep breath. "ITALY!"


End file.
